


your shaking shoulders prove that it's colder inside your head

by Waistcoat35



Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [12]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Arguing, Fluff, M/M, Making Up, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772770
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	your shaking shoulders prove that it's colder inside your head

**Author's Note:**

> The past abuse tag is more of a vague thing tbh?? But I wanted to tag just in case. It's more that Thomas is wary and a little jumpy after a disagreement because of old memories unrelated to Richard??

They do bicker, sometimes. It's not all that often, surprisingly - Thomas will snap sometimes, or Richard's mouth will run away with him and he'll ask about something he perhaps shouldn't have. The latter is often the cause of the former- Thomas snaps when he gets scared, all bark, mostly, but sometimes there's some bite to it, and this time, there had been - a sign that both of them should stop, that they're driving one another too far into upset. But Richard hadn't backed down, and so neither had Thomas, and it's resulted in a hurt silence from both sides. They'll still be in the same room, and they'll pass something if the other asks for it, but it's like they've turned their backs to one another on a level below the surface. Richard has turned away, figuratively, but on Thomas' side it feels more like flinching away, curling into himself. 

Even in their mutual irritation, Richard tries to soften himself. He can show he's unhappy without being harsh, without being loud or rough, because he has seen the cornered look Thomas gets in his eyes at such things, knows his quiet, steadfast terror more intimately than his own breath, and he does not want to ever be the one to have caused it. It remains consigned to when Thomas is recounting a memory, a glimpse of something Richard wishes he could erase for him. 

After a while, the silence on the sofa becomes stifling in a way it doesn't under normal circumstances, and Thomas slides from his seat and stands. "Going for a smoke," he mumbles, and Richard sees his chance passing by and grabs it by the tail before it can, like a wayward balloon kept from being blown away. 

"Take my jacket," he says, and even in his annoyance the offer feels as natural as it ever would, "it's cold outside." Thomas looks terribly surprised - blindsided, even - in his mind, the way of things is that Richard was right and he was wrong, and that it was his fault, always his fault, in Thomas' mind, after years of being told so by person after person he seems to find it hard to blame anyone else save for himself. But he seems to uncurl a little bit, is less drawn into himself, and he nods. 

"Thanks." Richard wants dearly to get up and hold it behind him while he slots his arms into the sleeves, the same as he had at that cafe once when nobody was watching, but Thomas is right at the door now and it's too far, too long. He'll need time to sit and sort things out in his head before he comes back - to pick at the bubbled, frayed knot of feelings old and new and memories of different times and different people, at what they both said and what they should've both said, and untwine all the pieces, roll them back up into tidy little balls and tuck the ends away. 

Richard busies himself with the dishes, because the sink is by the front window and he can see Thomas sitting on the stoop, the smoke rising in a single lonely pillar every time he breathes it out. He has indeed taken Richard's jacket - his own discarded somewhere upstairs - and somehow it seems large on his shoulders now. Nevertheless, he seems to nestle into it, let it's warmth envelope him. 

Thomas stays there for quite a while this time, and though he's unwilling to rush things, he also doesn't want Thomas to catch his death out there. He makes tea and eases the front door open, sets a cup down next to Thomas. It's the _I see you, I hear you_ , the _I haven't forgotten you out here_ , the _whenever you want to, whenever you're ready, I want you back._

Whatever Thomas broods on at times like these, Richard has little doubt that part of it is anxious wondering - is this it, can he stay, has he ruined things at last, being his spiky old self - and the answer has always been that no, he hasn't, and that Richard could no sooner ask him to leave than get rid of the walls and ceilings. Thomas is a permanent fixture of this home for as long as he'd like to be, or until he burns it down one way or another. He turns his head, and Richard thinks he sees the corner of a smile. He's come at a good time, because Thomas picks up the cup, but he also stands to come back inside. 

They take their places on the sofa again, and he notices Thomas hasn't taken the coat off - seems to be clutching it so he has something of Richard even now, thumb worrying at the cuff of a sleeve. There is a glance towards Richard's lap, and he takes his hands from where they had rested on the tops of his legs and clears the space. Looks from it to Thomas and back again, the invitation hopefully clear, and nods, just slightly.

"Go on. I'll not push you away, if you want to." That's all that is needed before Thomas is there, right there, chin hooked over Richard's shoulder and arms around his torso, burrowing in as if he'll never let go. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, half-desperately. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't even mean it, I just- just-"

"Just wanted to throw me off the scent," Richard finishes. "I was starting to ask about things you didn't want discussed yet, and you tried to divert me." He feels a shrug. 

"S'pose so, now that you say it like that. But I shouldn't have said it, whatever it was for." Richard shakes his head.

"Maybe not. But then again, I could've stopped asking questions sooner. I could see that you didn't want to answer."

"Shouldn't have to be so careful," Thomas mutters, resentful of himself. 

"I should, and I want to," he replies. "If it makes you uncomfortable, or you don't want to talk about it, you're well within your rights to tell me to sod off."

"Went a bit too far, though. What I said wasn't fair of me." Richard chuckles.

"I think it'd be quicker to just conclude we both struck a nerve, and to try and be more considerate of where they are so we don't strike them again. Hmm?" He doesn't get an answer right away, because he's started running a hand over the hairs at the nape of Thomas' neck and the other is, admittedly, distracted. But eventually he feels the nod against his shoulder. 

"Thanks for the coat, by the way." Richard smiles.

"Liked it, then?"

"Didn't feel so cold out there, with a bit of you." 

**Author's Note:**

> What did Richard ask? What did Thomas say? Who knows! Not me!


End file.
